Borrowed Time
by DolbyDigital
Summary: Neville stood, raising his glass of champagne, and the guests fell silent, all turning their attention towards the head table. It was the happiest day of his life, but that was soon to change.


**A/N** — Thank you Firefly for beta'ing :)

[800 words]

* * *

Neville stood, raising his glass of champagne, and the guests fell silent, all turning their attention towards the head table. He took a deep breath, focussing on the rising bubbles and the way the late afternoon light reflected off the glass, trying to calm his nerves. He looked up, giving a nervous grin, and began to speak.

"We'd like to thank you all for coming," he said, gesturing to Hannah to include her in the statement. "It's really great to see you all here, sharing in this moment." Hannah smiled up at him, taking his hand and standing.

"And of course," she added, gripping his hand tighter, "remember those that couldn't make it."

There was quiet murmuring from the guests, and Neville could see several nods of agreement, particularly from his own side of the guests.

"But," he continued, but the word trailed off at a sound like the distant rumbling of thunder. He frowned slightly, cleared his throat, and continued: "But this is a —"

The thunder-like rumbling grew louder, drawing the attention of some of the guests.

"Neville?" Hannah whispered, leaning against his side. He could feel her breathing quicken, and his own heart raced in his chest.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I think —" He shook his head, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. An orange glow was fast approaching.

"Oh, Merlin," one of the guests groaned. People were standing, turning, but the light was approaching on all sides.

Neville grabbed Hannah and turned, hoping to get her out and come back if there was time, but nothing happened. This had been planned.

Some of the guests were reaching for their wands, but most had already discovered the Anti-Apparition charms.

The screaming began.

.oOo.

Neville groaned, making an attempt at opening his eyes, but they felt like they'd been glued shut. His face felt dry, as though his skin had been stretched thin across his skull, but mostly he was just numb.

"Mister Longbottom?" a voice called; he didn't recognise her, but he turned his face towards the sound. "Mister Longbottom, you're in St Mungo's," she said. "My name's Healer Fisher."

"Wh — Wha —" His throat felt dry and cracked, and talking only made it worse.

"Fiendfyre," she said, anticipating his question. "You're lucky you know a lot of Aurors."

"Who —"

"I'm sorry, Mister Longbottom, I'm afraid I don't know." Her voice was sad, but he still couldn't open his eyes to tell her.

"Your wife's here," she continued. "She was awake this morning, but she's resting now."

.oOo.

He woke up with a start, reaching out for Hannah, but her side of the bed was cold. He lay for a moment, just staring up at the ceiling, before rolling out of bed and padding down the stairs.

"Hannah?" he called softly. "Are you okay?"

She was sitting at the kitchen table, head cradled in her hands. Hannah was still sitting in darkness, so Neville flicked the switch, flooding the room with light.

For a moment, he thought she hadn't noticed.

"When does it end?" she asked, her voice thick with tears. "This is supposed to be over."

Hannah turned to face him, tears running freely down her scarred cheeks.

"Hannah," he whispered but trailed off when he realised he didn't know what to say. He turned the light back off, the heat from the bulb making him feel uncomfortable, and left her alone in the room.

.oOo.

"Do you want me to stay?" Hannah asked. Neville turned to face her, shaking his head.

"No, I — I just want to say goodbye," he whispered; it was only from sheer strength of will that his tears weren't falling.

She nodded and left without another word, leaving him standing over the fresh gravestone.

He couldn't think of what to say; he had never prepared himself for this. The war was supposed to be over. He wasn't naive enough to think that meant all death would be put on hold — that no one still sharing those old views would wish to have their voices heard — but at his wedding?

He traced the letters of the name with a scarred finger, the stone rough under his still-sensitive flesh.

Augusta Longbottom.

Neville only stayed for a few more minutes, head bowed and fingers pressed against the cold stone.

He had gained a wife but lost the woman who had been there for him through everything.

.oOo.

Their wedding rings lay in a glass dish on the mantlepiece. Neither of them could bear to look at them — they couldn't look at each other most days. It was too much of a reminder; they were too much of a reminder. And he knew this would not last.

They were living on borrowed time.


End file.
